Page 18

I n a new room, this one at the tip-top of an insanely tall resort, I paw through the luggage Smith bought for me, feeling more discouraged by the second.

“I have nothing to wear,” I mutter as Saylor applies some eyeliner in the bathroom with the door open.

“Lucky for you, I hand-selected some outfits to bring just for my main bitch.” She caps the eyeliner before applying some nude lipstick and smacking her lips together a few times. Tossing it into her purse, she heads toward the closet because, even though she isn’t even staying the night, she hung her clothes up like a lunatic.

She goes to work, grabbing a few things, and I feel my mouth water when I hear the shower running in the other master suite, knowing Smith is in there. I can’t stop the images of him, wet and naked, from assaulting my brain. He booked us a two-bedroom suite; even though we live in a house together in Maine, this feels different.

And it’s really going to feel different once his sister is gone.

Saylor was going to fly back right after the game, but she decided to catch a red-eye flight instead. Which means she’s going out with us for a few hours.

I’m worried she might give me something that makes me look like a hooker, but beggars can’t be choosers. Especially since I really don’t have anything to choose from for clothing, just the few things I’ve bought here and there that have been on sale basically. And most of it is comfy stuff, like leggings and crewnecks. I currently only have one pair of jeans.

One pair of jeans is enough though. I despise jeans.

A lot of the team and their significant others are going out to some exclusive club, and I guess that includes fake girlfriends, too, because I agreed to go. It’s not really my scene, but the Sharks had a big win, and my best friend is in town for a few more hours. So, as Saylor tells me to do, I’m putting on my party pants, and I’m going out.

Pulling out a dress, she holds it up, her eyes wide with pride. It’s exactly something she’d wear on a night out—not so much me. It’s black, short, strapless, and covered in sequins.

“So, whatcha think?” She starts toward me, pressing it in front of my body. “I think it’ll fit you like a glove. You’ll have every dude in that club staring at you.”

I look down, my mouth hanging open. “I think we might have to cut it off of me at the end of the night. Seriously, Sails, this looks like it could fit a toddler.”

“You’re a lot skinnier than me, and I wore it a few weeks ago,” she deadpans. “And let me tell you, I got some looks. And some numbers too.”

I roll my eyes at my friend, who is as extroverted as she is introverted. I’ve never seen a person who can blend into both worlds as effortlessly as she does.

I take the dress from her and sigh dramatically. “Fine, I’ll try it on.”

Shimmying out of my leggings, I pull Smith’s jersey off my head and toss it onto the bed. I felt kind of special, wearing it, until I saw about ten other people wearing one just like it.

Most of whom were beautiful women.

Tugging it on, I walk over to her and turn around. “Zip me, please.”

Dragging the zipper upward, she spins me around. “See, I told you it would fit. I just did that in, like, three seconds. It took me, like, ten minutes and a bunch of tears later to get it zipped on myself.”

Our whole lives, I’ve been a little taller than her, but we’ve always had a similar body build, but she’s got more junk in the trunk—seriously, she has the perfect butt. Now, I know I’m too thin. My weight began to drop about a month or two after Richie hurt me that first time, and then it went downhill from there.

When you’re living with a person you can’t stand deep down inside, it makes it hard to have an appetite. And now, my nerves get the best of me most days, and I’m never that hungry. But it’ll all get better, I’m sure.

“I’m parched. I need to go chug a water. brB!” she chimes, walking out of our room, leaving the door cracked .

I walk over to the mirror and look at myself. I have too much makeup on, my long hair is curled, and my dress is too short.

The lost girl stares back at me, giving me a look that’s questioning why I’m trying to fool myself into thinking I’m okay.

I’m never going to be okay.

I go back to a time when I ran some errands before I stopped driving. It was a hot day in California, and I had on a simple pair of shorts and a tank top. There was nothing seductive about what I was wearing, but when I got home and Richie saw me walk in, he thought differently.

Richie’s voice comes into my brain, and I flinch.

“You wore that out today, Gemma?” He sat on the couch, his arm propped up on the back of it as he craned his neck to look at me.

I saw the clear glass of bourbon in his other hand, and I knew right away that it was going to be a bad night.

“Do you think I want my fiancée to dress like a slut?” The words came through his gritted teeth, sending the hairs on my body shooting upward.

“N-no,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t think I looked—”

He was off the couch and stomping toward me before I got the chance to finish my sentence. His hand gripped my neck, and he pushed me up against the wall.

“You don’t think that those shorts barely cover your fucking ass, Gemma?”

He pushed his hand harder, cutting my air supply off, and I began to panic.

“You stupid fucking bitch! You think I’m dumb? You think I don’t know when my fiancée is out, trying to find another man to fuck her?”

“No.” I croaked out the word as best I could. “I wasn’t. I’d … never.”

I had thought about leaving countless times, but it seemed hopeless to believe I’d ever get away from this man. Or that anyone else would ever want me.

Grabbing the fabric of my shirt, he ripped it into shreds. I didn’t care though because, for a second, I could breathe.

His palm came down hard on my cheek, just like it always did, and I fought back a yelp. By this point in our relationship, I knew none of this was normal.

And yet I stayed. I stayed a long time.

I’m pulled back to reality when Saylor begins shaking me.

“Gemma!” she screams. “It’s me! I’m right here! ”

The dark fog lifts from my brain, and sluggishly, I return to the present, staring in the mirror at the girl whose makeup is now running down her cheeks.

Smith rushes into the room and barrels toward me. Gently putting his hands on my shoulders, he spins me to face him. “What’s wrong, Gem? What happened?”

He’s panicked, and even though I’m crying, I feel numb.

“I …” The words get stuck in my throat.

I’m embarrassed that he has to keep calming me down. I’m angry that every time I’m enjoying myself, the darkness creeps back in, reminding me that it owns every part of my soul.

“I’m fine,” I finally whisper, looking from him to Saylor. “I just … I-I need a minute.” I step back out of his embrace before going into the bathroom and closing the door.

I sink down onto the edge of the tub, feeling my heart race and my stomach turn.

How long can I go on like this? I’m fucking tired.

My eyes are on Gemma and that stupid fucking dress, which is turning me into an idiot because I can’t focus on anything besides how good her ass looks in it and how much I’d love to take her to the restroom, tear her panties off, and fuck her against the wall right now.

I look reluctantly at my sister once I see Gemma talking to Paige and a few other women.

“She shouldn’t be here. She should have just stayed with me back at the room, like I offered,” I say to Saylor, frustrated by this entire night.

I know Gemma; being the people pleaser that she is, she plastered on a brave face, buried her feelings down deep, and insisted we come out tonight because she thought Saylor and I actually gave a fuck about it.

“I know,” she agrees. “Trust me, I told her we’d stay in, but she wasn’t having it.” She eyes her best friend over. “Maybe being around people will help.” She looks up at me, raising a brow. “People who aren’t you.”

“Now is not the time for fucking jokes,” I grumble at her. “She needs help. She needs fucking therapy or something. I don’t know. But she can’t just get over the past on her own.”

My sister’s expression falls, and she pats my hand. “I know, trust me. I’ve brought it up to her before, but she isn’t ready. And I don’t want to push it and make her feel like she’s crazy or something. She spent the last few years being told she was the problem and that she was fucked up in the head, and I’m not going to add on to that trauma by pushing her before she’s ready.” She side-eyes Gemma, her shoulders sinking. “You have no idea what horrors that girl has been through. Neither do I—she’s only told me basic things. It’s going to take time, Smith. We have to let her heal on her own schedule.”

“She’s, like … a different person,” I say, and it fucking hurts my throat to even mutter the words.

She smiles sadly, shaking her head. “No, she’s not. She’s still the same Gemma we’ve known most of our lives, I promise. She just needs some help remembering that herself.”

Ryder, who doesn’t typically take the time to read the room before busting in, chooses this moment to step in, throwing his arm around me.

“You’re finally here,” he drawls, clearly drunk. “Oh, hey, Sail-On. Happy to see me?”

“No,” my sister snarls. “We were having an important conversation. Take your dumbass somewhere else.”

I’m so fucking confused from this encounter, but before I can even think or give a shit about it, I catch Gemma taking shots at the bar. She tips one up to her lips and throws it back before smashing the glass down onto the bar and moving on to another one. When I see a third shot getting pushed her way, I rush toward her.

Less than an hour ago, she looked like she had a panic attack in the room. Now, she’s getting hammered.

I get to the seat next to hers just as she brings the third shot of clear liquid to her lips. She gives me a questioning look, raising an eyebrow.

As her plump lips wait anxiously for the next shot, I can’t stop myself from remembering how good those same lips used to feel while wrapped around my cock. My dick twitches, and I know I’ll be fucking my hand to thoughts of her when we get back to our room.

“Can I help you?” she says, bringing the glass a few inches lower. “Do you want one?”

I lean closer to her ear, breathing in her sweet scent. “You’re masking your shit, Gem. It’s not going to work,” I mutter. “You can’t drown out the past by getting fucked up.”

“I’m not,” she snaps, pulling away from me. Bringing the shot glass to her lips, she keeps her eyes on me as she tips it back and lets the liquid slide down her throat.

I have a job to do right now, and that’s to protect her. And yet, with the image of her throat working to swallow down the liquor and her eyes glaring into mine, my cock is taking up all my blood flow, making it hard for me to even think rationally.

She slams the glass down onto the wooden bar, but as she raises her hand for another, I take her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together.

“There are photographers everywhere, Firefly. Better play the part,” I murmur, leaning a little closer to her. “There’s one behind you right now.”

She seems a little nervous suddenly, but it’s also clear the alcohol is going to her brain quickly because her face is getting redder by the second and her balance seems off.

“Kiss me,” I utter, wanting to kiss this girl before she’s so drunk that she needs to be tucked into a bed—alone. “Give the tabloids something to talk about. Maybe that fuckstick ex will realize you’re never coming home.” My eyes float to her lips as they part slightly.

“Are you doing it for the tabloids or because you just want to kiss me, Sawyer?”

“Maybe both,” I say honestly, catching her off guard.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispers. “That’d be taking it too far.”

“So? Do it anyway,” I dare her, lifting my eyes back to hers.

I don’t know if it’s the shots or fear that our plan won’t work or if she’s as hungry for me as I am for her, but when her lips land on mine, my entire fucking body feels like it’s on fire. Within seconds, I’m cupping her cheeks, bringing her face closer to mine.

A soft moan escapes her throat, and even though it’s probably too far, I slip the tip of my tongue into her mouth, earning me another moan .

Suddenly, she pulls away from me. “Too far.” She readjusts herself in her seat, sitting up straighter. “That’s … too far.”

It’s too far because she fucking enjoyed it that much, I know, but I don’t call her out. Instead, I slide my hand onto her knee and kiss her forehead.

“Can’t make it look like we’re fighting, baby,” I coo into her ear, and she shivers.

Her eyes seem glazed over, but not with emotion. Between that kiss and the shots, she’s a perfect storm right now.

A smile takes over her face, and her eyes widen.

“We should dance.” She claps her hands together, and that’s when I know she’s officially drunk.

Sliding off the stool, she grabs my hand. “Come on, big shot. Let’s give those reporters something to talk about.”

She leads us through the crowd until she finds a spot and turns toward me. This isn’t what I was anticipating, and I probably shouldn’t let it happen because she’s been drinking, but the thought of her ass grinding against my cock is too tempting. The way she’s looking at me right now, biting her bottom lip as “Pillowtalk” by Zayn blares through the speakers, I’m a fucking goner.

She spins around, backing her ass up to me and putting her arm around my neck. Carefully, not wanting to push things too far, I slide my hands down her body, wrapping them around her stomach as our bodies sway together to the music.

Her ass feels so good and pushes against my dick, and I have to tell myself not to get hard, but I know it’s useless.

She smells like sweet vanilla, making me wish I could run my tongue over every inch of her skin. And when she cranes her head to look up at me, the last thing I’d ever expect is for her to kiss my neck, but when her lips touch my flesh, my cock quickly hardens, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.

Every ounce of me has missed her. Body, mind, soul—I fucking want it all. But I don’t know if she feels it, too, or if she’s just playing the game.

She presses her ass harder against my aching cock, making it fucking throb with need. Her lips kiss my neck again, but this time, she drags her tongue on my skin, too, before giving me a small bite.

Jesus Christ, I want to fuck her so bad.

The song is nearly over, and she spins toward me, pressing her body to mine and wrapping an arm around my neck. “I’m drunk.” She smiles, dragging her fingers down my chest. “I’m drunk, and I’m really, really turned on.”

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

I have waited for this moment for so long, but I can’t fuck her, not when she’s been drinking. She’s been through too much for me to do some stupid shit like that.

“Oh, yeah?” I manage to croak out, my cock rock hard and pressing directly into her stomach.

“Mmhmm.” She bobs her head up and down, looking up at me with fuck me eyes. “Take me back to the room, Smith. Show me everything I’ve been missing.”

Her blinks are long because she’s buzzed, reminding me that I can’t take advantage of her when she’s in this state. Telling her no is going to be hard, but I’d never forgive myself if I had sex with her tonight.

“Firefly, I want that more than anything,” I rasp. “But not tonight. Not when you’re drunk.”

That earns me a laugh, and she drags her fingers lower, playing with the waistband of my jeans. “Come on. Don’t be the good guy right now, Smith. Just be the guy who gives me what I’m asking for.” She reaches up, bringing my face closer to hers. “I want you to fuck me, Smith. I want you to fuck me and make me forget the past few years.”

There’s sadness in her tone at the end of her sentence, showing that, despite her being intoxicated the pain is still there.

I take her wrist in my hand and press a kiss to her forehead. “Not like this, Gem. Not tonight.”

She’s instantly angry, but the last thing I want is for her to throw a fit. If reporters got videos of us fighting tonight and if Richie ever did anything stupid, they’d probably spin it and say she had a history of causing issues with men.

That’s how fucking messed up the world is these days.

“Don’t act pissed or throw a fit, Gem,” I murmur against her ear. “Remember, there are always eyes on us when we’re out, especially with the team.”

Even though she’s drunk, when I pull back to look at her, she’s embarrassed .

“I’m going to find Saylor,” she says, looking away from me and stumbling slightly. “She’s leaving soon for the airport.”

She steps back from me to walk away, and even though I want to chase her because I know she’s mad at me, I don’t because I don’t want to risk scaring her by being too aggressive, and I know there’s a camera around every corner, taking pictures of the team. I can’t make it look like there’s trouble in paradise.

So, instead, I hang back and watch her every move to make sure she’s safe. Begging my cock to settle down because, right now, it’s so hard that it hurts.

Saylor didn’t stay long, which prompted me to want to leave, too, so I decided to catch an Uber with Saylor when she went to the airport, and then I got dropped off at our hotel. Like a coward, I had her deliver the message to Smith that I was going back to the room but wanted him to stay. I knew if I did it myself, he’d just insist on coming back with me, and that wouldn’t be fair because he had a great game today, and he deserves to be out celebrating.

“Stupid dress,” I grumble, attempting to get the zipper down on the dress Saylor let me borrow.

She insisted I keep it. She said it looked better on me than it had on her, which is not true, but either way, I should have had her unzip it before she went to the airport.

Walking into the kitchen area, I pull open the drawer to see what I can find for a tool to help me get this dress off of my body, feeling more claustrophobic in it by the second. Just as I pick up a manual can opener, the door swings open, and Smith steps inside, closing it behind him. He looks far from impressed, but, Lord, he looks hot in his button-down shirt and jeans.

“Why would you have my sister tell me you were leaving? Why wouldn’t you just walk over and tell me?” He’s trying to keep the anger from his tone, but it’s not working. “I didn’t want to be at that club any more than you did, Gemma.”

“Sorry,” I say shyly before trying to reach the can opener behind my back, unsure of how it would possibly work but desperate to get this dress off my body.

The good thing about being stuck in a dress that I can hardly breathe in is that it distracts me from the fact that I threw myself at Smith, and now, he’s here, watching me play with a can opener like an asshole.

“My God, will you just put the fucking can opener down?” he says, shaking his head and stepping forward. “Spin around.”

He moves his fingers in a circular motion, and I stare up at him before leisurely turning away from him.

When his fingers touch my flesh before he tugs down the zipper, I suck in a breath. I try to keep it cool and stay calm, but the closer his knuckles get to the top of my ass, the more my heart speeds up. When he gets to the bottom, I can’t fight it anymore.

I have wanted him since the day he left. I know I have healing to do, and I know there’s nothing good that could come out of leaning on sex to mend what hurts, but right now, I can’t think straight, and all I want is to be close to Smith Sawyer.

Spinning slowly, I let my arms rest at my sides, and the dress falls to the floor. I didn’t wear a bra tonight, leaving me in only a thong as I stand in the kitchen, staring at Smith and silently begging him to give me what I need.

“Jesus, Gemma,” he hisses, his eyes darkening as they roam my body. “I told you, I can’t fuck you tonight. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk anymore,” I whisper, taking a step toward him and pressing my tits a little closer to his body. “Since I got back to Maine, you keep trying to fix me, Smith.” I place my hand on his abdomen, sliding it under his shirt. “Fix me then. Rid my body of another man’s touch.” Tears fill my eyes, and I breathe in sharply through my nose. “I’m begging you … fuck me, Smith. Fuck me so hard that the pain leaves my body.”

The battle he’s fighting inside is palpable, and with each passing second, I feel him giving in to me more. He needs this too. It doesn’t have to mean anything, but if it numbs the pain for a while, I won’t stop asking until I get what I want .

My palm glides upward in an attempt to get him to tug his shirt off, making him suck in a breath through his teeth.

“I don’t feel like me anymore,” I whisper. “Bring me back to life.”

He cups my cheeks suddenly. “Tell me this is really what you want, Firefly. Because the last thing I would ever want is to hurt you. I’d cut off my own arm before I ever let that happen again.”

Even now, we’re supposed to be nothing besides roommates who are fake dating, and yet I feel more love just from his hands on my face than I did during the entire relationship with that monster. His eyes drink me in like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, not like a disgusting woman no one else would want, which is what I was told in the past.

“I don’t want anything,” I murmur. “I need it. I need it to numb the pain. I need it to fix me.”

His thumb strokes my cheek, and he kisses me. “Tell me where it hurts,” he whispers. “Show me.”

My lip trembles, and my vision grows blurry with tears. “Everywhere,” I sob. “Everywhere hurts.”

“Baby,” he breathes out, continuing to stroke my cheek with his thumb. “I’ll never let anything happen to you again, I promise.”

For so long, I’ve kept everything bottled inside. Since she learned the truth about my ex, Saylor has told me that I should go to therapy. My mom has texted me every single day since I told her the truth and asked if I needed her to come stay with me. Everyone wants to fix me, yet I just keep pretending like I’m all right. But I’m not, and Smith knows that, yet he chose to help me and keep me safe.

“There were times when I was with him … and I’d close my eyes and picture you,” I whisper. “That’s what got me through, Smith.” I kiss his lips. “ You got me through.”

I tug the hem of his shirt. “Please. Please give me this, just this once. If you’ve ever cared about me at all … you’ll fuck me right now.”

He studies me for a few seconds before undoing the first few buttons on his shirt and then tugging it off, and right away, I reach for his jeans and fumble to unbutton them.

“Baby, this doesn’t have to be about me, okay?” He rests his hand on mine. “I want to help you, but don’t feel like you have to—”

“I know I’m not the girl I once was. And I know I’m not as … de sirable anymore.” I pause, feeling myself breaking. “But I need you inside of me. I need you to wash everything else away.”

He’s so handsome and in perfect shape. Any person in the world would be lucky to have him, including me. I’m too skinny now. I don’t sleep well, and it shows in the bags under my eyes. I’m not as attractive as I was before because everything I say or do has me questioning myself. And I can tell he sees every single one of those doubts just by how he’s looking at me.

Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he pushes his jeans and briefs down, letting them pool on the floor before stepping out of them. His cock springs free, rock hard and standing proudly, and I moan just from the sight of it. My pussy throbs, needing him so much that it physically hurts.

When he lifts me up into his arms, my legs wrap around his waist, and he carries me toward the bedroom. Gently, he sets my body down on the bed before reaching down and pulling off my thong.

“You are absolutely flawless, Gemma,” he whispers, trying to convince me of something that isn’t true. “You are a true piece of art, baby.”

As his eyes rake over my body, I watch pre-cum spill from the tip of his cock, and I squirm as my nipples grow harder.

“That’s what you do to me, baby,” he says delicately. “Just the sight of you makes my cock drip because you’re so damn beautiful and I want you so bad.”

Crawling onto the bed, he runs his palms up my legs. “Do you know how many times I’ve covered my own hand in cum from picturing you? And imagining I was inside of you or between your legs?”

I swallow, watching his every move and hanging on to each word from his lips.

“R-really?” I say, barely audible, but he still nods.

“Fuck, just yesterday, after I sent you that text about the jersey, I sat in my room, and I fantasized about you coming to me and sitting on my face.” His eyes glimmer. “Do you know what happened in my fantasy? I came in my pants just from eating your pussy. That’s how much you drive me wild, Gem. You’re fucking perfect.”

I want to feel his words and believe them, but I can’t. Not yet. But still, I don’t want him to stop. I need him.

“Can I touch you?” he asks sweetly. “Can I feel how wet you are for me? ”

“Yes,” I say, breathy and eager.

He spreads my legs wider and releases a low growl from his throat. He glides his hand up my thigh and brushes his fingertips against my heat.

“Such a perfect pussy, baby.” He hovers two fingertips at my entrance, only pressing them into me slightly. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” I croak out. “More.”

Climbing on top of me, he brings his mouth to mine as his hard cock presses against my leg while his fingers push deeper inside of me. With his lips on mine, he begins to work his fingers in and out, in and out. I break our kiss for a second, but only to wrap my hand around his huge steel cock and run my thumb over the tip, causing more pre-cum to spill out.

I want to believe he’s turned on because he thinks I’m sexy and because he wants me, but that demon sitting on my shoulder tells me otherwise. It tells me he’s just horny and I’m here and eager. But I keep going because I need this.

“Fuck me,” I whimper. “Please. Fuck me right now.”

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs against my lips.

“IUD. And I’m clean,” I toss back instantly, pulling his body to be more centered on top of me in hopes that he’ll slide inside of me faster.

I want to feel this. I want it to awaken my soul and remind me that not everything is bad. His cock nudges inside of me, and I lift my hips, pushing against him so that his dick slips inside of me slightly.

“More,” I whine, repeating the motion.

Understanding my desperation, he thrusts into me, pushing his cock in deeper and making me cry out in relief. As his hips begin to work in a pumping motion, I dig my nails into his back.

“Smith,” I moan. “Yes.”

“Right here, baby,” he utters, pulling back to look down at me. “I’ll be here as long as you’ll let me.”

He wants to make this more than it is and more than it can be. He’s trying to fix me inside, but it’s useless. Either way, I’ll reap the benefits because he’s doing what I want him to—numbing the pain.

As his cock pushes further inside of me, deeper with each thrust of his hips, I drive my fingernails into the flesh on his back and wrap my legs tighter around his body.

“You’re worthy, Gemma.” Thrust. “You deserve nothing but good things.” Another thrust. “The things that happened before are in the past now. You have a whole future, baby.” He skims one hand along my thigh, pushing himself deeper. “No one is ever going to hurt you again, I swear to you.”

His lips crash against mine, and he grips my leg tighter. My belly tingles, and my entire body, including my scalp, feels prickly.

“Let go, Gem,” his deep voice softly demands. “Let go and fall apart, baby. Let yourself have this.”

My back arches as I convulse, writhing beneath him. His body begins to tremble as he comes inside of me, pressing his forehead against mine.

I drag my nails down his back and to his ass while I ride out my orgasm, my own hips smashing into his.

“Smith,” I moan. “Fuck …”

“Coming inside of your sweet pussy, baby.” He shudders above me. “Feels so good.”

He’s right; it does feel so good. It feels so good that my mind goes blank and my vision grows white. But just like all good things, it has to come to an end.

And when the sex is over and my mind fills with those intrusive thoughts again, the feeling of doom creeps back in. It’s a familiar emotion that I’ve felt for far too long, and I was stupid to think sex with the man I loved would scare it away.

Despair.

It consumes me. It takes what it wants. And it wants everything.

And I fear … it always will.